I am fairly confident that dudes shaving during their morning commute have replaced makeup-applying women as the most feared group of motorists on the road.

With the recent time change and gloriously bright, sunny morning on my hands, I looked in my rearview mirror on my way to work and noticed a man barreling down on me. Having been the not-so-proud recipient of two bumpers over the last two years, a bit of nervousness quickly overtook me…

…especially because I was in the process of merging with traffic and about to be braking.

The sunlight illuminated his actions: there he was, going back and forth and back and forth and back and forth and back and forth across his face with his trusty shaver; his chin was elevated and being scrutinized mere inches from his rearview mirror. Sure enough, he wasn’t expecting brake lights and ended up fumbling the gadget, promptly resulting in overly animated (and, I presume, stubble-free) facial expressions, seemingly accompanied by a few choice French words.

He seemed irritated at me, but I was pretty irritated with him. Was he trying to make me go for bumper #3? Two is more than enough, thanks.

Was he so rushed for time that he couldn’t be bothered to mow his face at home?

And honestly, who wants stubble all over their dress shirt?

Maybe I’m not up on my stubble knowledge, and maybe after the whole shaving process one’s whiskers become undetectable. But why would anyone be OK with finely shaved bits of hair snowing down on their attire? They’re still there, right? I can only imagine the sensation of said lurking, chopped whiskers is akin to getting a haircut and then leaving the salon, at which time you can feel the leftover pokey, stray hairs on your person – but you can’t see them. Bleh. No bueno.

Years ago when I had my previous car, I was on the 5 freeway heading to a photoshoot that was taking place north of LA. I’d noticed there was a woman in the lane next to me who was intent on achieving flawless makeup application – while driving. For miles she was applying mascara, lip gloss, more mascara, powder, more lip gloss and, right as I neared the 710 freeway, someone rear-ended me.

It was mascara girl.

Seeing stubble man this morning brought back all sorts of concern.

Shortly after the shaver fumble by Stubbs, I ended up branching off for a freeway other than the one he was taking. I was thankful that I emerged unscathed and arrived to work with nary an additional scratch on my vehicle, and I appreciated any additional illumination the morning light provided, thanks to the time change. Perhaps it helped Stubbs to avoid a collision, or perhaps it helped to illuminate his poor choices while driving.

Either way, bumper #3 can wait another day. Then again, there’s still the drive home this evening.

In the dark.

Fingers crossed.